


Virago

by isharaytaoshay



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Dís comes into her own, F/F, F/M, Family reunited, M/M, Multi, Romance is not main plot point, Some Romance, but not the same, eventually, guys I'm warning you, quest for home, shy frightened young Dís
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4769627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isharaytaoshay/pseuds/isharaytaoshay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>virago<br/>noun vi·ra·go \və-ˈrä-(ˌ)gō, -ˈrā-; ˈvir-ə-ˌgō\<br/>a woman of great stature, strength, and courage</p>
<p>The untold story of Dís Keen-Shot, Princess under the Mountain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hertha

The Temple of Mahal was a great structure carved directly from the mountain. Light stones cast their solemn glow upon the citizens of Erebor below.  There were no doors here, the Temple open to any and all at any given time.

The air was smoky and heavy, with Priests cleansing all who entered with smoldering bundles of a spicy scented herb that burned with a thick, dark smoke. _Volvas_ could be heard chanting throughout the Temple; their throaty voices in perfect harmony as they sang their prayers to Mahal. Temple goers removed their boots in respect to the holy place. The onyx floor threaded with thick veins of gold was warm beneath their bare feet. Great braziers burned in many colors along the passage to the main Hall, causing the gem studded stone walls to wink and gleam.

All of this was lost on one particular temple goer as she strode in and made their way to the the great anvil altar of _sanzigil_ in the main hall. The golden circlet upon her brow caught the light, shining like dragonfire.

She knelt in front of the altar, eyes closed and head bowed as she recited the appropriate prayers.

“My lady Hertha,” a voice dry as dust said. The princess looked up from where she knelt, brown eyes locked with the strange grey of the speaker. He was a very large dwarf, fat and richly dressed, with rings on every finger and a heavy golden chains around his thick neck. His mustache resembled that of the great beasts of the northern seas; the Men there called them a walrus.

“ _Prestr_ Fáfnir, thank you for meeting me on such short notice.” Hertha said in a hushed voice as she rose to her full height. The _Prestr_ was shorter than her by several inches, but this was not unusual. Those of the Firebeard clan like herself had always been taller than the average dwarrow.

“But of course, your Grace. I am here to serve.” He stepped aside to let her pass him into the room that lay beyond his back. With as much dignity as a heavily pregnant dwarrowdam could muster, she strode into the room, absently rubbing her swollen stomach. At eleven months, she was due any day.

The room was as richly decorated as the _Prestr_ himself, the carpet thick beneath her swollen and grateful feet. The fire burning in the grate was much appreciated as well; dwarrowdams always seemed to be chilled throughout their pregnancy. Settling into a plush armchair, she waited quietly while the large dwarrow puttered about the room, doing this and that until taking a seat across from her.

“To what do I owe this honor, princess?” he inquired after a moment or so of silence. Hertha took a deep breath, wringing her hands in her lap.

“The dreams have returned, Fáfnir. Returned in full and have become much darker. Erebor is in peril, I am certain of this.” She said all in a rush.

“Princess, we have discussed this. I cast the runes myself and they speak of nothing but times of plenty and greatness lies in our future. It is normal for a mother to be anxious at this stage in her pregnancy-”

Hertha cut him off. “Do not speak to me of being an anxious mother, Fáfnir. I did not have these dreams when I birthed either of my sons. There is something coming. A great beast of shadow and flame will come for Erebor and all of her children.”

Fáfnir sighed, frustrated, the wrinkles between his heavy brow pronounced and deep. “My lady I mean no offense, but surely you can understand how improbable this sounds?”

“I am not mad. I know what I have seen and I know what is coming. We must prepare.”

Sitting back, he inquired, “Just how do you propose we prepare for this greatest of calamities you are so adamant is to come to pass?”

Narrowing her eyes, Hertha snapped, “We evacuate. Seek sanctuary elsewhere in the meantime. Perhaps Ered Luin or the ruins of Belegost.”

To her immense displeasure the priest began to laugh.

“To Belegost? Ered Luin? Those cities are long since abandoned and with good reason. I assure you, these dreams will pass once the little one is born and you will see that all will be well.”

The water clock chose then to chime sweetly, alerting the two to the lateness of the hour.

“Your grace, while this has been lovely, I must return to my duties.”

Standing slowly, Hertha put her shoulders back, locking eyes with the shorter dwarrow.

“I wouldn’t think of keeping you from them. Good day.” With that, she strode from the room, out into the main part of the temple, and out into the busy marketplace where her guard awaited her. They flanked her as she made her way back to the royal quarters fuming.

A sharp pain stopped her in her tracks, causing her to cry out suddenly. A hand flew to her belly and as her guard surrounded her and one set off for a healer at a breakneck pace, she sagged against one of the dwarrow in her guard.

It was time for the youngest of the line of Durin to make their entrance into the world.

****  
  


* * *

Hours later, Hertha was laid up in the birthing suite with a small bundle in her arms. The swarthy skinned dwarrowdam babe was sleeping, already having been fed and swaddled. Hertha thought of the other one, also a dam, lying cold and alone in the crypt of the royal family. The babe had been stillborn, her identical sister just barely clinging to life with a caul shrouding her little face.

Identical in every way, down to the mithril hair on their tiny heads. Hertha allowed herself to cry in the privacy of this empty chamber, mindful of the dozing life in her arms and mourned the daughter she would never know.

Come morning, the babe would be introduced and blessed in the Temple. She would be a great beauty, a fine mix of Durin’s blood and that of the Firebeard clan. The first dwarrowdam born to the line of Durin in six hundred years, she truly was a marvel.

Hertha stroked the mithril colored locks of her daughter, silently thankful for the unusual color. Mithril-crowned it was called and it was said those born with it led charmed lives. What worried the queen however, was the caul.

It had already been stored away by the _Volva_ who had been present for her birth. Sworn to secrecy, Hertha was determined to hide this from as many people as possible. She wanted a true childhood for this little one, something her sons had been robbed of thanks to their place in the line of succession.

Gently she touched her forehead to the that of the babe's and whispered her true name. The little dam opened sleepy blue eyes at her mother’s voice and wriggled slightly in her blankets.

“I promise you this little one; I will keep you safe from what it to pass. I swear it.” One last teardrop fell from her eye onto the nose of her daughter who scrunched up her nose most comically. The Durin nose; Thrain would be so proud when he finally laid eyes on her.

All throughout the city dwarrows and dams rejoiced over the birth of the Princess of the line of Durin. Many cups were toasted in her honor and throughout all the celebrating, the little princess slept on, unaware of everything.

 


	2. Frerin

Frerin shivered and wrapped his thick furred cloak tighter around his body in an attempt to keep out the icy wind. Winter was on the way. As such, this was the last time they would be able to hunt before the snows kept them inside the mountain.

A bark of laughter caught his attention and he turned to see his brother Thorin with his head thrown back in mirth, laughing at some joke their father had told him. Dark where he himself was fair, Thorin’s black beard was long and unadorned unlike the other male dwarrows his age. Thorin was never the lavish type and preferred little to no trinkets. An oddity among dwarrow to be sure.

Scratching at his own patchy beard, Frerin sulked. At his age he should have one to rival that of his brother’s but this was not the case. His mother tried to assure him that this was common on her side of the family but it didn’t help him in the slightest. He knew what they said about him behind his back. How could he hope to ever be as great, as strong, or as handsome as Thorin? Everything came so easy to him.

Thorin caught his eye and fell back in the party to ride beside him on his black pony, a fiery tempered mare called Minty. His lazy smile instantly made Frerin feel guilty for even harboring feelings of jealously, but it couldn’t be helped.

“It’s too beautiful a day for such a sullen face, brother mine.” Thorin said, his brow quirked questioningly. Frerin breathed in the chilly air, pungent with the scent of pine deep into his lungs. The sudden rush of goosebumps despite being well clad against the chill snapped him out of his funk.

“A gold piece says I can make it to Dale faster than you,” Frerin challenged, flipping a gold coin in the air. Thorin smirked. 

“A gold piece? Surely you jest. The loser must sit with Father and Grandfather during open court for a week.” Confident little arse, Frerin thought.

“Done. On three. One, two….THREE!”

The boys spurred their mounts forward, surging past the party with cheers and laughter in their wake. Thorin may be older, but Frerin was the better rider. His own mount, a dun stallion called Topaz, overtook Minty, Thorin giving a cry of dismay.. Giving him his head, Frerin focused on keeping his seat while the Topaz galloped towards the city of Dale.

He reined Topaz in after a few moments, his point made. Thorin was well and truly beaten. He wheeled his mount around, nudging him into a trot back to his Thorin’s side. Breathless with laughter, his smile fell when he saw Minty tied to a downed log, Thorin nowhere in sight.

The smell of rot and decay assaulted his nose the closer he came to the mare. Dismounting, he tied Topaz with the unusually skittish mare, following Thorin’s bootprints into the copse of trees.

He did not have to go far; Thorin was braced against the tree with one hand, the other wiping his mouth. The smell was overpowering, Frerin’s stomach churning. “Thorin, brother. What is wrong?” Thorin shook his head and pointed to the trampled bushes just beyond him.

A chill went down Frerin’s spine, his hands shaking as he approached the bushes. Pausing before them, he steadied himself before pulling them aside. His horrified eyes took in the scene for him. He fell back on his backside in his hurried scramble back from the vision beyond the brush.

Bodies. Rather, what was left of them. A barely recognizable heap of rotting flesh sat there baking in the heat of the sun, the decomposing heads mounted on crude spikes. Vermin and other foul creatures crawled over the remains.

Frerin tried, he really did, but he couldn’t stop what was left in his stomach from coming up. His body heaved and his eyes watered as the smell continued to assail him.

A gloved hand pulled him up from the ground and he was hauled through the treeline back to the ponies and fresh air. A wineskin was shoved in his hand.

“Drink! It’ll help,” Ser Dagr commanded and Frerin obeyed, taking a long swig. The cool, spicy-sweet liquid helped wash away the sour taste of bile in his mouth. Wiping his mouth, he saw Thorin sitting on the log, a wineskin also in hand, but his bright blue eyes staring at his boots.

Ser Dagr clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good lad. Stay here while I assist your lord father.” All Frerin could do was nod in assent and the old knight stepped out of the clearing and into the trees.

Looking to Thorin, he struggled for words as his mind unhelpfully supplied the images of the nightmarish scene he had the misfortune to witness. Opening his mouth, he shut it with an audible click when he realized he had no idea what to say.

The silence stretched between them for some time, broken only by the sound of insects in the foliage around them. The sun shone weakly through meager breaks in the cloud cover, pale and watery. Frerin had just taken another swallow of the wine when Thorin spoke.

“That was the work of orcs, I’ll stake my life on it.” Raising his blonde eyebrows, he looked him head on.

“Orcs? In Erebor lands? Brother, think. There hasn’t been orc activity in this part of the world since Grandfather took the throne.”

 

Thorin narrowed his eyes as he gazed up at the sky. A brief wind toyed with his beard as he clearly thought over the words before they left his mouth. A rare thing indeed, seeing as how normally Thorin lacked a verbal filter. He took great joy in speaking his mind.

“Did you not get a look at what heads were staked on? Orc scimitars. The remains were partially eaten and not by wildlife. I’ve yet to see a fox with a mouth as wide as that. Nay brother, this was a message.”

“You are right in that, lad.” Prince Thrain said as he stumped back through the trees. His face behind his great black beard shot with gray was ashen. Wordlessly Frerin passed him the wineskin and Thrain took a long drink from it before continuing.

“Orcs are back in these lands, and it is our duty to drive them back out. Could be a rogue pack that decided to claim the place as territory. It would be prudent to send word to Dale, alert them to the situation. Ser Dagr, take your choice of dwarrow with you. And be vigilant! They could still be nearby.”

Saluting Thrain, Ser Dagr wheeled his pony around toward Dale, motioning to three of the accompanying knights in the hunting party. The band of four made for the city of Men with all haste.

Calling for attention, Thrain spoke again. “The hunt is over. We return for now to the Mountain.” With grim faces, all the dwarrow present followed the orders without a single complaint.

Thorin and Frerin flanked their father, eyes straight ahead and tight grips on the reins. The ride back was swift and they took the most direct route to the stables. Upon dismounting, Thorin handed the reins of Minty to a stable-boy and left for what Frerin was sure was to their sister’s side.

Frerin shook his head and turned his attention to seeing to Topaz before heading for the library. It seemed he needed to educate himself on the topic of orcs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
> sanzigil-Khuzdul for Mithril  
> Volva-Old Norse for Prophetess or witch  
> Prestr-Old Norse for Priest  
> Dwarrow-Khuzdul for a male dwarf  
> Dwarrowdam-Khuzdul for female dwarf
> 
> As always, find me at riptide-lullabies.tumblr.com


	3. Uzbadnâtha

The youngest princess of Erebor loved to read. She read everything she could get her hands on. She wasn’t allowed outside of Durin’s Keep and as such had never been to the great library of Erebor. She’d read all the books in her father’s study, and the ones in her mother’s room. Frerin would loan her books on war, weapons and strategy, something she found she enjoyed learning about.

She had spent many an afternoon pouring over famous battles and creating strategies for pretend ones. Her amad frowned on this, of course, thinking it outlandish for a princess to be interested in some things. Luckily, her brothers and adad indulged her curiosity and supplied her with plenty of books to read.

When she wasn’t occupied with her books, her mother taught her the softer arts. The princess liked them well enough, seeing as how most were solitary activities. She was a quiet and shy dwarrowdam, and very cautious in anything that was new and unknown. Frerin teased his little sister about her timid nature, causing her to become upset. She would then run to Thorin, who would simply pull her into his arms and talk quietly with her until she was calm again.

As much as she liked the quiet things, her world was seldom so. The princess always knew she was different, and saw things others didn’t even notice were there. The spirits of the mountain were always present. They flocked to her because she was one of the few who was aware of their presence.

She always knew what was going on in the mountain thanks to her incorporeal friends. The spirits were also aware of how sensitive the little princess was, and as such took care of her in their own way. They taught her to listen with her feet and to see with her mind. It was her custom to walk barefooted rather than wear the heavy steel toed boots favored by her kin.

On this day the princess was beneath her father’s desk, a honey bun in one hand and a book on dwarrow genealogy in the other. A spirit of the diamonds idly toyed with her hair while she read. She was so absorbed she almost didn’t hear her friend’s whispered warnings of someone approaching.

Hastily she shut her book and held her breath, the honey bun forgotten. The door burst open, slamming hard against the wall. Heavy boots stomped into the room, the owner pacing.

“ _Adad_ , we must warn grandfather. He’s the King.” She heard her brother Frerin say, as he walked in the room.

“You and I both know your grandfather is unwell, Frerin. I will not cause him unneeded stress.” Her adad let out a heavy sigh through his nose. He began to pace again before stopping in front of his desk.

“He’s the King-”

“ _Fuck the king!_ ”

A heavy silence fell over the room until Thrain broke it.

“Forgive me, my son. It was wrong of me to take my frustrations out on you.”

The princess heard the softer clumping of her brother's feet as he approached his father.

"No _adad_. We all know he is sick. You're his son, of course, you are worried the most."

Thrain sighed again before taking his seat behind the desk. The princess crowded back away from his feet, her shaking hand sticky from her forgotten treat. She was trembling, frightened of her father's raised voice. He'd never raised it around her, always gentle and kind.

"Aye, my son. I do worry. He is old but as tough as any dwarrow his age. But his mind...it is as fragile as spun glass. Enough of this talk, this day has been full of death already. Let us not mar it further. Where is my mizim?"

The princess reached out a small hand and tugged sharply on the leg of his trousers, causing him to leap to his feet with a yell.

She jumped, flattening herself against the back of the desk. Too much loud noise hurt her ears.

" _Mizim_ , why are you hiding under my desk?" He asked once he regained his composure.

She simply stretched her arm out to show him her treat.

"Stealing from Cook again, little gem?" He laughed, pulling her out and setting her on his knee. She ducked her guilty face, her cheeks flaming. Frerin reached over and mussed her hair.

"Thorin has been searching high and low for you, sweet. You might want to go find him." He suggested.

Stuffing the bun in her mouth, she nodded before wiggling from Thrain's hold and bolted out the open door and down the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the warm stone.

She bolted down familiar passageways, briefly acknowledging each spirit she passed. They pointed her down the unoccupied halls, toward her eldest brother. Her braids were loose, flying behind her like a silver banner.

She skidded to a stop outside his room, knocking thrice before putting her hands behind her back. She waited for him to answer, rocking back on her heels. Her sensitive ears could heard him shuffling around before walking toward the door. She beamed up at Thorin when he opened the door, her gap toothed grin apparently infectious, as he smiled back before letting her in.

"Just where have you been, little one?" He asked as he sat in his chair by the fire and pulled her in his lap to fix her mussed hair after grabbing his comb. She held up the book she'd held onto too throughout her mad dash through the Keep.

“Under _adad’s_ desk again? With a sweet filched from Cook, no doubt.” Her face flushed again and he laughed softly, pulling the comb through her long hair. The princess loved having her hair combed.

“Your naming ceremony is approaching, little one. Have you given any thought to your use name?” She paused before she shook her head no. To be perfectly honest, she really didn’t know who she was. Thorin had chosen well, his name suited him; he was indeed brave. Fearless, or so it seemed to the Princess.

It was tradition to choose a name that was along the same strain as your parents; Thorin and Frerin, sons of Thrain were excellent examples. As much as she loved her mother, she couldn’t see herself choosing a name similar to her. The princess sighed, her mood gloomy.

He paused, sensing the change in her mood. “Don’t be like that, _Mizim_. You will know when the time comes.” She nodded unconvinced. With clever fingers he weaved her braids and put her beads back in.

“Come, I know what will cheer you up. The pit will be clear now, let’s go practice your archery.” The princess leaped off his lap, grinning. Thorin strode over to his bed and pulled a long box from beneath and upon opening it, revealed a bow and arrows in a quiver, all child size. He handed them to her before pulling out a smaller box. He took out the soft leather shooting glove, vambrace and chest protector , nodding approvingly when she put them on correctly without any help.

“Mute you may be, little one, I’ll be damned if you cannot let a weapon speak for you,” he said as he took her hand and they made their way through the back corridors of Durin’s Keep to the training pit. The princess carefully strung her bow and checked her arrows like he’d taught her while Thorin set up the targets.

“Now, you remember our last lesson?” She nodded. Thorin put her into position, his hands guiding hers.

“Feet a little farther apart, that’s it little one. Find your anchor point.” Carefully she pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth and held the position.

“Remember, relax your fingers to release the arrow. The draw your hand back to finish the shoulder rotation. You ready?” A determined nod was his answer.

“Fire.”

She released the arrow, pulling her hand back as instructed, and watched as it hurtled toward the target before burying itself in center. She turned and threw her arms around her brother’s neck, positively vibrating in excitement. He laughed and hugged her back before turning her back to the target.

“That’s only one, little one, you must practice to be sure you can do it every time.” Another determined nod and she got back into her stance and drew another arrow from her quiver. They practiced until she ran out of arrows. He had her collect them and watched as she cared for her equipment before putting it back in their respective boxes under his bed.

“Come, it’s time for dinner. Go wash up and I’ll meet you by your room.” She gave him a hug before running to her room to do as he asked.


	4. Thrain

The crown prince waited until his second born left his study before he put his head in his hands. Thror was getting worse everyday. He’d had to have an extra guard detail outside of his chambers due to his midnight wanderings into the treasury.  Thrain was exhausted not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. It was incredibly hard seeing his father fall deeper and deeper into the madness that plagued their line.

He sat back in his chair with a groan, painfully feeling every sore muscle. For all that dwarrow get stronger and tougher with age, he still was very aware of how old he was. His bones and muscles felt tired all the time from the strain.

Thrain turned his attention to the piles of parchment on his desk waiting for him, as Thror was unwell it fell to him to keep the kingdom running. Despite the vast amount of wealth in the treasury, dwarrows and dams of the lower castes were starving and homeless because Thror refused to part with any of his hoard. The temple was full of those of the lower castes, but even they only had so many beds to spare.

Recently Thror ordered any and all humans must vacate the mountain and Erebor was closed to trade. Thrain was doing his best to keep good relations with the Kings of Dale and Mirkwood respectively, but they too suffered from the effects of the lockdown. Thror made it clear he had no interest in tending to anything but his hoard, allowing his council of vultures to run the Kingdom. They took this opportunity to line their already substantial pockets. The nobility caste was squabbling more and more. Civil war was imminent if he could not get the kingdom back under control.

The population was booming, which meant more food needed to become available. Dams were giving birth to more and more children, which was a blessing to their race, but a problem for the kingdom. Since trade was closed, they had to rely on what little they could grow and harvest on their own. Then there was the matter of the livestock housed within the mountain. Feed had to be found for them-there were reserves but Thrain was unsure how long this sickness would claim Thror and no reserve lasts forever.

Pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he could feel the migraine beginning to bloom behind his eyes. How he wished he had seen this coming sooner, perhaps he could have done something to help his _adad_ before the curse of their line claimed him. If only-but what if’s did not help him fix Thror’s mess.

Thrain had not been a happy dwarrow for quite some time. Trapped in a political loveless marriage-his One a kitchen maid he was only able to see on the rare occasion he had privacy-he found very little joy in his everyday life. His strong son’s and beautiful daughter were the pride of his life, his greatest achievements but he still longed for his One. Arranged marriages were almost unheard of, but Thror in the beginning of his madness had ordered Thrain to marry the lady Hertha of the Firebeard clan.

 

Hertha was a true beauty, large of bust and ample of hip, with a golden fall of hair and eyes like the purest axinite. But she was not the most affectionate dwarrowdam; stoic, proud and regal as befitting a lady of her station. That is not to say he did not like her, they were friends to be sure, but he harbored no romantic feelings towards her. She however did, which made things even more complicated.

She had given him two fine heirs and a beautiful daughter to dote upon. Thorin and Frerin resembled him in features, but Frerin had her coloring. Both were skilled warriors and were well versed in the numerous duties it took to run a kingdom. Thorin, his eldest and heir, had more responsibilities than his sibling but he did not seem to resent it like Thrain had when he was of his age. Frerin was being groomed to be an ambassador for the kingdoms of Dale and the Greenwood, his charismatic ways able to charm anyone.

Which brought his thoughts to his little gem. The princess’ name day was fast approaching and this year she would choose her use name and finally be let outside of the mountain for the first time in her life along with other children in her age group. Of all his children he worried for her the most. The solemn little princess was...odd to say the least. Mute, shy, slow to smile and quick to startle, she was almost alarmingly observant as well as incredibly intelligent. She’d mastered _Iglishmek_ at a very young age in order to communicate and was fluent in reading _Khuzdul_ , _Westron_ and _Quenya._ Hertha had insisted on her learning the elven tongue, saying it would aid her later in life. Frerin also was learning it, but took no joy in it.

His little gem had her quirks, that was true, but she was also very strange. She went barefoot at all times, her eyes would flit about and lock on to the empty air. She excelled in strategy and other mental pursuits, frequently beating her brothers and himself in games of chess. It was due to her strange habits and personality that he’d kept her safe in Durin’s Keep. Thorin had petitioned him on her behalf many a time, near begging him to take her to explore Erebor. She’d only seen but a fraction of her home. Thrain always shut him down. He was just trying to keep her safe.

Deciding that he would be unable to get anything done with this headache afflicting him, Thrain quit his study and followed the smell of food to the family dining hall. His family was all gathered, save Thror.

“He’s in the treasury again,” Thorin answered his mute question. Taking his seat at the head of the table in his adad’s absence he fell to his dinner with a single minded intensity. Eat, and then escape back to his chambers for a drink.

Out of the corner of his eye he observed Frerin coaxing his little gem to eat. Very little agreed with the little dam’s stomach, and as such she ate seldomly. She was small for her age and on the thin side; he did notice that she was smiling brightly, her swarthy cheeks a pleasing pink. Thrain wondered if Thorin had taken her to the pit to practice her archery that he wasn’t supposed to know about.

It was Hertha who had put the ban on the princess against learning how to wield a weapon. “Too small and sickly for such things,” she said. Thrain had frowned but did not argue-it was the mothers who raised the daughters and the fathers who raised the sons. As much as he disagreed, there was tradition in place that could not be broken. He had cheered silently when he had come across the two practicing with the short bow and targets. When he could he would watch her progress from the shadows. It was difficult for her but she was slowly getting better, even managing to hit dead center when she was fully focused. The archery training put her in such a peaceful state that he chose to not reveal this information to Hertha.

He was jerked from his thoughts by Frerin.

“ _Adad_ , tell Thorin that he needs to get back to learning _Westron_! If I have to learn a second tongue, he must do the same.”

Thorin laughed. “I have no need for _Westron_ , brother mine. It is you who will be interacting with the humans, not I.”

Frerin rolled his eyes. The princess’ hands moved swiftly as she signed her own comment.

“Quite right, little gem. Exercising the mind is never a bad idea. But seeing as how our dear brother has naught between his ears, I fear that would be a fruitless ende-” he was cut off by a spoonful of mashed tuber hitting him right in the nose. His sister next to him had wisely ducked and was hiding her smile behind her hand.

The family meal continued on in the light hearted mood until they all rose to go their separate ways, the princess running after her brothers on her short legs as usual.

Yes, his children were his greatest achievements in his life. Thrain returned to his chambers, and poured himself a strong drink. Perhaps if he drank enough, he might forget about the sights he had seen today outside the mountain.

Orcs were back in dwarven lands. Thrain sincerely hoped that the rogue pack had been destroyed and was simply a fluke, but he need deep in his heart this wasn’t so.

Perhaps Hertha was right about her dreams.

Perhaps the city of Erebor _was_ doomed to fall.

**  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> sanzigil-Khuzdul for Mithril  
> Volva-Old Norse for Prophetess or witch  
> Prestr-Old Norse for Priest  
> Dwarrow-Khuzdul for a male dwarf  
> Dwarrowdam-Khuzdul for female dwarf  
> Uzbadnâtha-Khuzdul for Princess (singular)  
> Hamumul Uzbadnâtha-Khuzdul for Little Princess  
> 'amad-Khuzdul for Mother  
> 'adad-Khuzdul for Father  
> Namad-Khuzdul for Sister  
> Nadad-Khuzdul for Brother  
> Namadith-Khuzdul for Little Sister
> 
> As always, find me at riptide-lullabies.tumblr.com


End file.
